TALE OF A TURKEY WHO CHANGED THANKSGIVING

At Thanksgiving, I remember Olivia. I met her in the year 2000 at Poplar Springs farm animal sanctuary near Washington DC. Having fallen for Babe, the movie star, I thought I was there to meet the pigs. But Terry, the sanctuary owner, started our tour at the turkey coop.

Terry opened the gate, and introduced Olivia. Olivia had been living on a turkey factory farm till Hurricane Floyd wiped it out. Ironically that hurricane saved her from a particularly gruesome death; turkeys are not covered under federal Humane Slaughter laws.

Olivia hobbled through the gate – "hobbled" because the ends of her toes had been cut off. That's standard practice on farms where jam-packed birds sometimes injure each other. For the same reason the end of her beak had been seared off. That procedure is painful, since turkeys use their beaks to explore for food, so they are loaded with nerve endings. But Terry explained that it is cheaper to hack off toes and beaks than to give animals enough space.

I was sitting cross-legged on the grassy hill near the coop. To my surprise, Olivia limped in my direction. She came close enough for me to reach out and touch her – gingerly. She moved further in, and I could pet her. It was surprisingly like petting my dog.

I reached my fingers under the outer feathers on her back and could feel a layer of soft down underneath. I had only ever felt that down in luxury pillows. How odd, and lovely, to feel it warm, on a living being.

Within a couple of minutes, Olivia had edged herself into my lap! I continued to move my fingers through her down. She laid her head in the crook of my elbow. She fell asleep. I fell in love.

And I adopted her. I couldn't take her home, but her photograph has been in the middle of our Thanksgiving table, surrounded by a vegetarian feast, for the last five years.

Olivia showed remarkable longevity for a modern turkey. Bred to be deformed with a grotesquely huge chest with lots of 'white meat', she'd been too weak to stand when she had arrived at the sanctuary. But apparently a home with space to move, grass to enjoy, sunshine in which to bathe, and loving care, had given her the will to live. And live she did, happily, until last year when we received the sad news that the sanctuary's lovely little turkey ambassador, my little ward, had died of cancer.

This year we are heading to a local farm animal sanctuary to adopt another rescued turkey. We'll add a new photo to our Thanksgiving table arrangement. But Olivia’s will stay in the center. She changed our Thanksgivings forever, and nobody can ever take her place.